Turkçe

We all know when you reach a fork in the road it is wisest to travel down the road less taken. However, at times the road you trek down splits off into, not two, but bundles of possibilities. There are occasions that the path is frayed like the shoe-lase that lost its solid tip and has accumulated endless numbers of steps. In situations like theses Mr. Frost has no advise to give.  Now as I walk the long walk I have come to this junction. It is here at Dedetepe, the olive farm, that the whole Eastern world lays in front of me. At first I was undecided where to go so I took a seat to ponder. Then I started toying with fantastic ideas, so I squatted to fantasize about my next move. In this position I stayed resting and dreaming, until all around me the grasses and flowers grew lush. 

Sometimes no path should be taken because it is your resting place where you belong. I am nowhere that is not the perfect place for me to be. What a feeling it is to take my worn soles off and to let my feet breathe. Only in periods of true rest, deep to the soul, is where I find fruit blossoming all around. (It is not unheard of to experience this deep calm even in moments of chaos.)  The sweet juices of my place in the olives are not all I receive. It turns out the pit I have stopped in is furnished with Turkish language lessons too. 


For some time the inspiration to write has overlooked me, but now I am feeling a Turkish creativity. Can you discover the meaning of my poem; how many ways can you understand my Turkish pros?

Nehir kenarinda olturuyorum

Guzel suyu goruyorum

Kucuk balik oluyorum

Kucuk balik oluyorum

Gunes te isinuyorum

Dedetepe-Well-Being

Warm rays of pink, orange and gold sink through my eyelids, drawing me to rise just a moment before the sun can rise herself, over the Autumn forest hills. Rhythms of this life, no need for alarm. I wake-up well.

Her body is scored with scars. She looks at the world through a cloud of trauma, seeing with only one eye. I accept her fear towards our tailless kind. Slowly gently, I absorb her aggression and get close to tend her wounds. Day by day I can hear more comfort in her response to my call, "Hey girl." I care well.

Earth: births the olives that drip the oil, sprouts the seeds that grown to be food, gives the mud that is molded for an oven, supports the trees that ignite for cooking, holds my feet, so I can patiently combine the gifts into an organic slow-food meal.  I am nourished well.

photo from Linda and Eriks

Focused energy streams through my actions producing progress to the task I attend. A group of bodies sharing a breath, food's fuel goes unwasted. Physical tasks accomplished satisfy more than my host. I labor well.  

photo from Linda and Eriks

I follow the music to find what I hear, I go to the land's edge to see what I find. Off the guide-book-trail I work to crack the surface of what is here. I inquire well.

Moments of laughter, moments of appreciation, moments of acceptance, moments of respect, moments of compassion, moments of communication, moments of creation, moments of weakness, moments of strength, moments we share, together our relations are well.

Here I am nature. Here I am free.  Here there is time for me to focus on me. I stroll down the river to feel the source. It is a connection like this that keeps me on course. Now as I go, self-care vibrates like a soft ringing bell. I-be-well.  

The Sea by Day, Castle by Night, A day in the life...

"The sun's warm glow mingles with the salty breeze that carries the smell of the sea, and the life it fosters, to my nose. Boisterous voices exchange passionate conversations in the street and a familiar voice sings, "Nicky" off the sea-foam-green balcony. It is Dani, my sister. I must be in Sicily!"   

It has been six weeks since my arrival in Sicily, and yes I have been indulging. "Real" pizza has been a meal many times. Bathing in the Mediterranean happens in intervals of 24-hours or less. Oh, and creamy gelato has melted on my tongue and slide down my throat regularly. I have taken it from a cone, from a spoon, through a straw and smeared in the middle of sweet bread, a brioche. Although I can taste the roast in the hazelnut gelato and the pistachio flavor is sweet and salty, the dive season is coming to a close and I feel as though this island and I have shared enough, for now.    


It is rare that travel is routine, but at the dive shop I have had a daily schedule. A day in the life.... 

Each morning begins inside the "Dive Flag Tower." It is 3 levels. Stefania sleeps on the top floor and acts as my alarm as she passes the second floor to start the day.

Task 1 of the day: Prepare Tanks

When all is ready we leave land behind...

We do the work, our guests enjoy the ride

Whenever this life seems like I dream all I need to do is look to Antonio's (the Diveleader in training) arm to remind me where I am

Giovanni, my host and Divemaster, briefs the group on the dive site

"me"

After the dive and after a pasta lunch, it is time to find some shade around the shop

  

The sun falls from its peak and late afternoon arrives.  A soft sensation wakes me from a nap. I give my attention to hear the call of the plants on the hillside garden. They are asking for water.  This place is not an official WWOOF, but it surely is a Barnstorming. 

This terrace style garden is home to a grove of young trees

The fruit love the view

Maybe it's the environment, but some of the plants look like they could be found swimming in the Sea

Night creeps over the tower as blue skies fade to purple. A typical night out is a walk for gelato... 

On the way we see...

Fishing boats eager for morning's catch

Stefania as a shadow model in front of the Castle

The Castle that gives the town its name, Castellammare

On this night a music festival! 

 A lone guitarist wails overhead, in an archway 

 He belongs with this five piece group (if you include the pooch) playing, a funk like trance set, on the steps

 A fire show too...

His name is Bunda and he is from The Czech Republic

Almost forgot the point of the walk...At last

Moon light illuminates the old port town, but when the sun fills the streets I will start it all again

That is until Wednesday when I say goodbye to Sicily...

Rosanero

Deep into summer, the Sicilian city, Palermo, is almost vacant during a holiday weekend. The scene takes place in a parking lot filled with street vendors selling hot food and "Barbi-Pink" sports paraphernalia. I am at the tailgate festivities for a friendly match at the Palermo futbol stadium. The environment is  casual as people refresh themselves with cold beer. The largest bits of commotion rise from voices selling jerseys and a band of teens excited for the pre-season event.  

These guys thought I was some kind of promoter 

When I gave them my blog address they went to it immediately from their mobile device 

I guess salmon-pink was close enough; I was accepted. 
 My Brazilian friend Edu (on the left) was too.


The dedicated boys wearing bright pink make it obvious that their passion for the team is stronger than their identity with gender norms. Young masculinity melts away with the Mediterranean heat to reveal a love for the Palermo Rosaneros and fellow supporters. 

A large couch bus drove by carrying the challengers. Hissing and hollering signified the end of the pre-game festivities. The pink crowd followed the bus, filled with the Turkish team, into the stadium. 

The Stadium, although mostly empty, held something inexplicable. Perhaps it was the glow coming from the reflection of sinking sun off the surrounding cliffs. Possibly it was the magnificent green grass grown with a little something special. Maybe, my perception was altered by the Sicilian street food and the stadium was mediocre. In the end, it was probably the fact that soccer in Italy is more than just a sport. The feeling I felt, most likely, came from the lingering presence of generations past. 

The Castle overlooking the stadium, where the Pope recently stayed

The first sight of a glorified grass field ignites vibrations that are familiar 

Edu fell quickly for the Rosaneros

Yankee Stadium does not give you this kind of view

Not a ballpark frank, It is fired potatoes and chick-peas in a bun- soaked with lemon juice. 

Although entertained by the game, the 3-2 loss left me concerned for Palermo. Before the game I learned that Palermo was close to entering into the champions play last season. After the team learned they would not receive financial rewards for advancing closer to glory, they lost five consecutive games. Personally, I was confused. I wondered, how could a European futbol player be so consumed with money when this sport is supposed to be about passion. I felt like it showed poor competitive character. The Palermo fan who told this to me understood the teams lack of motivation.  He said this is their job...What about the job of bringing honor to the city. I am sure during Rome's rule this apathy would have not been tolerated. 

After the loss, the fans booed their players in disgust and in fear for a poor season ahead. As we walked home the vendors announced all products were on sale because the team was now worthless. I wondered about the future for the Rosaneros. In a nontraditional love-triangle, neither players, managers, nor fans were satisfied.  When did fanaticism become conditional, and when did athletes stop performing for pride? 

*Coming Soon*...While volunteering at an Italian SCUBA shop I am thankful language is universal under the sea... 

Adieu

by: Jennifer 


On the last day of January I cleared out my apartment and said goodbye to New York City, the place I'd come to know as home for the last 3 years. I was excited, scared, and cold. I rented a car and with a few belongings and my beloved Derby Blue, I drive upstate to the frozen town of Redwood, New York. After 3 months of an artist residence there - and just when it was beginning to thaw! - Derby and I flew to Oregon to stay in Nick's college house during his last month of school (from where I flew to California to see my family and Florida for a family wedding of Nick's). 

Back to the suburbs of New York to stay at Nick's dad's (on the couch, in his high school bed, in his sister's room) and his mom's (on the murphy bed, on the pullout couch), back and forth from the city to stay with friends. 


Next we departed for our trip, flying from JFK to Dusseldorf, and finally to Nice, where we were picked up by Markus the English farmer and driven to Villeneuve Loubet, where I slept in an illegal caravan at the edge of the farm's property. 2 weeks there then a rented apartment in Paris, then a little room in a big chateau in Sacy-le-Petit. Next I flew from Paris to Palermo and took a train to Balestrate, where Nick's sister Danielle has graciously let me stay in the room atop her 3 story house. Are you tired yet? I am.


When Nick and I started planning this trip it was last October. I had been living in the same place for 3 years, in a job where I wasn't happy, and my "gypsy blood" (my mother's words) was kicking in. Now, after 7 months of travel I long to have a home base. I want my own place, or at least my own room. I want to have my things around, my things that I miss: My silky comforter, my little gold jewelry box, and most of all my dog Derby Blue, who's in California being taken care of by my brother.


You all keep asking me "Why are you ending your trip?!" but I want to be home now. I want to get a job where I can write and start making money again. I haven't been employed since December and my savings will not last forever. I want to be able to sit on my couch and read without feeling like a guest on borrowed time in a borrowed  room. 


If you don't understand that's ok, because it's something that I have to do for myself. I have had an amazing 7 months and I appreciate everyone I have met and the great hospitality they have showed myself and Derby. Nicole of betterFarm, Aliah, my best friend, for letting me stay at her apartment for a weekend while she was away so I could feel like I had a home, Ian, Nick's roommate, Nick's wonderful and giving parents Steve and Fran, farmers Fabrice and Markus, Rhea for her friendship, Hermine of Chateau de Sacy, and Danielle, Nick's amazing sister, for her understanding and patient hospitality. 


For the past week I've been securing a place to stay in New York, searching apartments, and applying to jobs (and going to the beach - I am in Sicily). Tomorrow, after just over a week in Sicily, I fly from Palermo to Munich to Berlin to New York. 


I fully support Nick's continued travel. After just graduating college and being in the same place for 4 years, I encourage him to keep going. To keep moving east, like he plans to. I'll continue to follow Nick through Barnstormers and I know you will too. To follow me and my adventures in New York, go to Sugarheart. Thank you for joining me in my travels, you have all been a part of it.

Garden Relief (in photos)

By: Nicholas

Abroad a month and that was just the beginning . Through my words I have done my best to recreate for you the feelings France has brought to me. My attention focused on the moment I am in, I have experienced each scent, sight and sound as purely as one can. I have worked to capture the essence of each place and pass it on through written language. Unfortunately today, I cannot bring to life the past two weeks in this same way.

When the mind's race is at rest, the world shines with a deeper brightness. At times though, thoughts do not easily accept peace. My life situation is changing and fear stirs with the uncertainty. My discomfort is expressed through my inner voice's old patterns. A carousel of illusions, memories and plans have been preventing me from completely connecting. The chateau in Sacy le Petit deserves a description that tickles the senses, but I have been too far removed to receive the place's inspiration. The obstacle that I face will become more clear with time, but for now I will only share some things in and around the garden that have temporarily given me relief from my burdened brain. 

Plums

Jam Making: Bringing the attention to the hands, we first prepare the fruit by taking out the innards. 

Seething the medieval way is sort of like milking the fruit for juice-leaving behind the skins and sometimes worms!

Add heat

The backyard of Chateau de Sacy, a great place to read and nap

A single rose blooms between the thorns, growing and wrapping  around an iron heart

With Jennifer's table tennis skill growing exponentially it is easy to forget that carrier pigeons once roosted in that background tower waiting for their next delivery assignment  

My competitive opponent Lloyd. Probably allowing recreation to create room for inspiration before our next ping-pong match.

I enjoyed listening to Lloyd Durling describe his work. As he told of his ideology and inspirations, I observed the philosophy and thought come to life off the barn wall.

Making games out of cracking walnuts with our newly graduated college-bound Connor

Hello tall sharp tool. Help Nick invent a path through the Forest garden

The whole body's rhythm  provides meditation for the spirit

Escape the Chateau to pick up warm milk and fresh eggs from the farm  

What better for relaxation than helping life to succeed  

What better to help life succeed than providing warm loving words

Not too close to the barn, yet

BBQ dinners are the best time to listen to Hermine's stories of  un-welcomed artists needing a literal kick in the butt to be removed  from the chateau 

Hermine's connection with the grounds stems from childhood play with the gardeners daughter and a young love with the bakers son

She has grown with the land and her dedication to it is apparent everywhere. For instance in this archway of green beans

Although these wonders have been fogged by my own seperation, I do not  judge my distracted mind. I am grateful that I am able to sense, from the place between the thoughts, that struggle is not permanent. Life's love is always within.